


wet socks

by spoom



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adoptive Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), no beta we hope for the best, wilbur soot is still a teenager, wowowow lots of phil tags, writing this made me want pasta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 11:54:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30105567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoom/pseuds/spoom
Summary: Wilbur holds himself to too high of a standard, and eventually makes a mistake. Phil's there to keep him stable.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Kudos: 23





	wet socks

As most people do, Wilbur hated having wet socks. Absolutely despised it. But if he was honest with himself, wet socks seemed to be fitting for today. The “just got fucking expelled from school and then ditched before my father could get there” vibes were really accentuated by the pouring rain and soggy socks. He tugged on his backpack straps, fighting off a shiver.

  
Coming to a stop, Wilbur let himself pause and think about what had led him here. Why could he not have just done what his teacher had wanted? Why did he have to be so rude? Phil would be disappointed, Wilbur could hear his exhausted sigh already. He cringed at the thought. It was quiet outside, all that could be heard was the drone of cars on neighboring streets and his own breathing. Looking up to face the sky, Wilbur wondered if anyone else felt this way at this very moment, if anyone else was looking at the same sky and wondering the same thing, maybe on the next street over, maybe somewhere on the other side of the world. _There has to be. At least one._

  
His train of thought was abruptly interrupted as bright yellow light encompassed him, and the drone of a car's motor hummed louder as it approached him. The teen felt a sinking feeling in his gut, something told him he knew who was in that car. His suspicions were quickly confirmed when the vehicle came to a stop next to him, and he heard the window rolling down. He snapped his head down, suddenly finding the pavement to be quite captivating. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and began walking again, not even acknowledging his father.

  
Phil simply pulled forward. No way was he letting Wilbur walk home in this, and probably get himself sick in the process. The teen kept walking. Phil kept up. He could do this all the way home.  
He wouldn’t though, that would completely defeat the purpose of him being here. Done playing games, he leaned forward to call out the window.

“Come on, Wil. Hop in.”

The teen faltered, but kept walking nonetheless, his shoulders visibly tensing.

“Come on, I don’t want you getting sick,” Phil tried again, “I’m not upset, just please get in the car.”

Wilbur's pace only sped up.

Sighing, Phil pressed ahead, passing Wilbur by a couple meters before stopping the car. He opened his door, and Wilbur stopped. Phil stepped out, looking down the street where his boy stood, soaked by the rain.  
Wilbur felt hot embarrassment rush into his face, and his chest tightened in distress. He felt panicky, but the reason he was panicking was also the only one there who could calm him. He choked on a breath, his eyes still glued to the ground. Phil walked toward him calmly, making sure not to make the teen mistake him for upset.

Placing a hand on his son's shoulder, Phil spoke.

“C’mon bub, let’s go home.”  
Wilbur crumbled, slamming his eyes shut, not resisting in the slightest when Phil pulled him into a warm hug, letting out shaky breaths as his father rubbed his back, comforting him.

Phil carefully led the brunette into the passenger's seat of their car, reaching into the backseat to pull out an old blanket. He handed it over to Wilbur, whose curls were still dripping water onto his face. Actually, upon further inspection, some of those could have been tears. Phil felt his heart ache for the kid, and had to resist reaching over to put a hand on his shoulder. He knew he shouldn’t, not right now while Wilbur was still cold and wet and possibly irritable. They could talk when they got home.  
Taking a slow breath, Phil turned back to the road, and began their drive home. It was uncomfortably quiet, but turning on the radio didn’t seem like the most sensitive thing to do, so Phil let it be. He wouldn’t know, because Wilbur couldn’t find the words to voice what he was thinking, but his son thanked him for that.  
The silence came to a subtle stop as the two pulled into their driveway, and it became clear that the dreaded conversation might as well have begun. Stepping out of the car, Phil made a mental note to return later to bring Wilbur’s backpack inside. The teen wordlessly stepped up behind him as he unlocked the front door, and when Phil walked inside and turned to him, he was staring down at the blanket in his hands.

“Don’t forget to hang up your coat,” he said, trying to keep his tone gentle.

Wilbur looked up, and stuttered out something so quietly that Phil barely heard him.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, _you’re_ okay,” Phil assured, “We can talk about it after you’re cleaned up.”  
He stepped forward to take the blanket from Wilbur’s shaking hands, and as the teen stalked away to his bedroom, Phil folded it into a rectangle and draped it over the edge of the couch. He also grabbed a dry washcloth out from a kitchen drawer and dried the little puddles Wilbur had left in his wake.  
Phil wandered back into the kitchen, taking out a bowl of leftover pasta from the fridge. He wasn’t sure if Wilbur had gotten lunch or not, so he just stuck the whole thing in the microwave. He paused at the old report card taped to the fridge. Straight A’s. Phil actually had found out on his own, at a parent-teacher conference. Wilbur had been so quiet about it, not even giving himself the slightest bit of credit. He’d wondered then if something was wrong, and the feeling only became more prevalent now. They would definitely have a talk about this.  
Minutes later, his son was back with a new, dry pair of clothes. Phil was sitting on the couch, waiting for him.

“I heated up some pasta, if you want some.”

Wilbur paused for a moment, but didn’t seem inclined to eat anything. He took a deep breath and came to stand next to one end of the couch, wringing his hands and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and shaky.

“I don’t know why I did this, I know I let you down a- and I’m really sorry,” he paused, and Phil considered interrupting him, but decided against it.

“I don’t think I ever want to go back to school, and- and I know that sounds stupid but I reall-,” he stopped, and a quiet sob worked it way out of him.

It was like the air was being crushed out of him, and Phil couldn’t stand to watch it anymore. Standing up, he walked over to Wilbur, gave him about five seconds to step back if the touch was unwelcome, and, deeming it okay to do so, pulled the shaking boy to his chest. His hair was still damp, and his breathing was way quicker than it should have been.

“Let's sit down first, yeah?” Phil hummed, leading them backwards to the couch.

Wilbur choked out something Phil didn’t make out, but he took it as an agreement. Phil let the teen fall down with him onto the couch and took his hand, rubbing circles into his palms while he caught his breath. Phil hadn’t seen him cry in a while, and he didn’t want to start talking and say something to scare him off, or worse. It seemed like the kid was punishing himself more than Phil would even consider doing. He waited until he could no longer hear Wilbur’s breathing or feel his hand shaking to speak again.

“You okay?”

“Mhm,” Wilbur hummed, not trusting his voice.

Phil turned to look at him. “I’m not upset.”

Wilbur didn’t look up.

“Wil…” his tone was hesitant. “I- You made a small mistake Wilbur. It’s expected, I mean I’m actually lucky that this isn’t a more common occurrence,” he put his hand on the younger’s shoulder. “I’m serious, people would pay to have a child as amazing as you, I’m not throwing you out over this or anything.”

Wilbur turned towards him, and he looked absolutely exhausted. Phil reached up to ruffle his hair.

“The only one upset at you is yourself,” he assured.

Wilbur sighed, and reciprocated the eye contact.

“I’m just...I guess school’s got me pretty stressed out.”

“Yeah, I’d say.”

He offered a slight smile, and Wilbur sighed, a little less tension in his shoulders.

“Are you serious about not going back to school?”

The teen looked away. “Yeah...a little bit.”

“Are you being picked on or something?” Phil braced himself for the answer.

“Not really. I mean, not badly,” he sighed, “I really just don't feel like I belong there.”

Phil felt a little worry rise in him at the admission, but decided not to pry.

“Well, I’d be okay with moving you somewhere else if you’d like. I can’t exactly homeschool you, though.”

“Uh, oh. Yeah, I know.”

The room seemed to have gotten a bit darker, and when Phil looked outside he noticed the bright spot behind the clouds that he’d assumed to be the sun was no longer visible. They should go to bed, it was getting late and Wilbur looked ready to pass out.

“Do you have anywhere in mind?” he asked, one last question on the subject.

“Not really.”

“Okay. I’ll look around.”

“Uh- Okay,” he took a breath, and Phil could see relief in his expression, “Sounds good.”

They got up shortly after, Phil putting his dishes away while Wilbur got ready for bed. As the last bit of light from the sun faded away, Phil passed by Wilbur’s door, and was quietly pushing it closed when he heard a quiet voice.

“Thanks dad.”

Smiling at that, he whispered a ‘you’re welcome’ in response before shutting the door with a quiet click. Outside the bathroom door sat a damp pair or shoes, and Phil cringed at the thought that his son had been walking in soaked shoes for at least ten minutes that evening. _It’s okay, they’ll be dry by morning_ , he thought, and shut the hallway lights off.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading :] if i made any spelling mistakes pls let me know, i'm all for constructive criticism because i'm trying to improve. i know it's short, might rewrite in more detail if this is received well :) hope you have a great day <3


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